


east on the 401

by justbreathe80



Series: Trans-Canada Series [1]
Category: Canadian Actor RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-15
Updated: 2009-12-15
Packaged: 2017-10-04 10:58:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justbreathe80/pseuds/justbreathe80
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He has no fucking sense of place when he's on tour, and even though Toronto's his city, he keeps a fucking apartment here, for Christ's sake, he might as well be in Saskatoon for all his body knows. Second installment of the trans-Canada series.</p>
            </blockquote>





	east on the 401

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you many times over to my darling strangecobwebs, who beta'd this, and who continues on as my enabler handholder. I adore you!
> 
> All false Canadian info is solely mine. I did my best to be accurate, but I was going on some info from Canadian f-listers, maps, and my recollections from several, long-ago trips to Toronto. I hope I did okay, at least.

The show’s over, has been for a while. They’ve already got all their shit packed up into the bus, and Hugh drifts over to lean against the side of the building, putting his left foot against the wall and lighting his cigarette. He takes a long, deep drag, and _god_, he can feel the show adrenaline still thrumming through his veins. They’re not leaving until 8am, to head east for their next show in Ottawa. Hugh wants to spend one night, just one, on this godforsaken tour without the road underneath him as he sleeps. It means less time in Ottawa, but Hugh’s always thought Ottawa was a fucking shitty excuse for a city anyway, so no big loss there.

What he doesn’t tell Trent and the others is that he’s got a reason to want to stay in Toronto for a few more hours. Callum called last week, his number popping up on Hugh’s cell phone before a gig in Windsor, and Hugh had to take a deep breath before answering so he didn’t pick it up before it even had a chance to ring.

“Hey, Dillon.” Callum’s voice had sounded low and smoky, and Hugh had felt it through the phone and all the way down his spine.

“Hey yourself, cuntface,” he said back.

Callum laughed, and said, “Would you believe I missed that? So, you’re going to be in Toronto next week?”

“Yeah, for three shows, I think.”

Callum paused, then said, “How’s the tour going?” Hugh knew exactly what he was asking. Was Hugh sober? Straight? Well, in the drug-free sort of way at least.

“I’m good. Don’t worry about me, asshole.” He _had_ been good, been sober for a couple of weeks and feeling good, which was really, _really_ fucking hard on tour.

“Yeah, I don’t,” Callum said, and Hugh could hear him lighting a cigarette and letting out a deep breath on the other end of the line. “Okay, I have to go, but I’ll see you next week.”

“Sure, whatever,” Hugh said to the dial tone, and clicked his phone shut.

And now, now he’s waiting for Callum to show. That was the last time they talked about it, but Hugh knows Callum, knows that he called to tell Hugh he’d be there, at the end of the show, without actually _telling_ him.

He takes another drag on his cigarette, feeling the chill of the September air on his bare arms. He’s forgotten how cold fall nights are in Toronto. He has no fucking sense of _place_ when he’s on tour, and even though Toronto’s his city, he keeps a fucking apartment here, for Christ’s sake, he might as well be in Saskatoon for all his body knows.

He almost _feels_ the car coming around the corner before he sees it. Some piece of shit, non-descript rental, and Hugh can make out the outline of Callum’s hair in the dark. Callum’s left arm is resting against the door, cigarette in his fingers, his right hand on the wheel. Hugh pushes off the wall with his foot and drops his mostly-gone cigarette on the ground, grinding it out with the heel of his boot.

Callum’s rolling down the window as Hugh approaches the car, slowly, because he doesn’t want to let on how good it is to see Callum. It’s always so fucking good, because the weeks, the months between the times they see each other, they _hurt_, just a little.

“Hey, baby, need a ride?” Callum says, grinning and tapping his ashes on the ground next to Hugh’s feet. Hugh leans down to rest his palms against the door, breathing in Callum, smoke and sweat. He laughs, then grabs Callum’s cigarette from his fingers and takes a drag.

“Yeah, something like that.” They tussle, batting at each other’s hands and trying not to get burned, for a few minutes, before Callum has the cigarette back in his mouth, and turns away to reach over and unlock the passenger’s side door. Hugh stands back up and walks over to the other side of the car, opening the door and easing himself down on the seat. The adrenaline is starting to wear off, just a bit, and he can feel every fucking year in his body when he lowers himself into the seat. Callum turns, grinning quickly, then steps on the gas.

*****

Callum pulls the car (a fucking Honda, for Christ’s sake) smoothly onto Bloor. Hugh takes in the city, his city, through his half-closed eyes. He didn’t grow up here, but it’s as much his home as any place can be these days. They’re on Spadina, passing UT now, and Hugh rolls down the window and takes in the slightly stale, cool Toronto air.

He looks over at Callum, who’s concentrating pretty hard on driving, even though it’s two o’clock in the morning and the streetcars aren’t even running anymore, and there’s almost no one on the road. Callum tosses his cigarette, which he’s smoked down to the filter, out the window onto the street. Hugh realizes that he’s actually never been in a car with Callum before. They’ve known each other for years, but they spent the first months on a tour bus, and the next months filming, and have been meeting up in cities, coming in on planes or buses or whatever. It feels strangely intimate, Callum picking him up and driving them to Hugh’s apartment.

Callum turns off Spadina onto a narrow, side street, just before they hit the heart of Chinatown. These streets are impossible to navigate by car in the daytime, but at this hour, Callum easily finds his way to Hugh’s building. Hugh both hates and loves this place. Loves it because it’s one of the last places in this concrete and glass shithole with some personality. Hates it because he can’t believe what a cliché he is: a fucking rock star living in Kensington _fucking_ Market.

Miracle of miracles, there’s a parking spot on the street in front of the building, and Callum pulls into it and turns the car off. Hugh wants to get out, get inside, get Callum’s clothes off and then _sleep_, but he’s frozen with the realization that they haven’t spoken a word to each other since he got in the car, not a word in the long minutes riding through the mostly deserted city streets. He clears his throat and reaches into his shirt pocket for his cigarettes, taking out the pack and pulling one out with his lips.

Hugh’s fumbling in his pants pocket for his lighter when he feels Callum’s soft breath on his neck, bracing his hand on Hugh’s shoulder and lighting Hugh’s cigarette. Hugh sucks in, hard, letting the smoke flood his lungs, closing his eyes and feeling Callum’s lips against him.

“Dillon,” Callum says, his voice breaking, just a little. “Let’s go inside, okay? Come on.”

With that, Callum’s out the door, and coming around to open Hugh’s door and grasp Hugh’s hands, pulling him up out of the seat and toward the front door.

*****

Hugh’s dragging himself up the stairs behind Callum. Goddamn, he’s not twenty-five anymore, and his knees ache. There are only a few stops left on this tour before he can come back to Toronto for good, and he’s never wanted that so much as he does right at this moment.

He watches Callum’s long legs, encased in jeans just the tiniest bit too big for him, striding up the stairs. When they reach the landing, Callum’s got his keys out before Hugh can think to dig in his own pockets. He watches and tries to ignore the hot flush that goes up his body at the sight of Callum letting himself into Hugh’s apartment. God, he’s such a fucking chick sometimes, but he remembers clearly pressing the key into Callum’s hand, outside a show last year in Vancouver, telling Callum to stay there whenever he was in town. He’d wanted to say a hundred other things, Callum’s fingers twined in his, the sharp metal between them.

Hugh follows Callum into the front hallway. Callum kicks off his shoes, and Hugh just watches as Callum walks, without a word (god, so fucking _quiet_, they were never this quiet), toward the bedroom, pulling off his t-shirt and dropping it carelessly on the floor. With that, Hugh feels the adrenaline coming back, his body waking up a bit. He’s been waiting too damn long for this to fall asleep on the couch like some fucking loser.

He toes off his own boots and follows Callum, taking in a deep breath of fucking _home_ while he’s walking. When he reaches the bedroom door, he leans against the frame and takes in Callum, who looks pretty fucking fantastic. God. Even better than the last time. He’s looking up at Hugh, the top button of his jeans open, on his back on the bed. Hugh starts working on the buttons of his own shirt, tossing it on top of the closest dresser. Callum’s stroking himself, through his jeans, and Hugh has to swallow down a groan just from the sight of it. Goddamn. Callum has his fucking number, for sure.

Hugh walks over and climbs up Callum’s body, pressing hard against him. “Hi,” he says, kissing the soft spot under Callum’s ear.

Callum laughs. “Usually hello comes before getting horizontal. Classy motherfucker.”

Hugh laughs into Callum’s neck, using his tongue to lick a stripe up to Callum’s earlobe. “Fuck you, cunt,” he whispers into Callum’s ear, feeling Callum shake against Hugh’s body pressed against his. Callum’s dick is hot and hard against Hugh’s thigh, and god, yeah, this is what he’s been waiting for since fucking Windsor, since Callum’s cryptic phone call.

Suddenly, Hugh’s on his back, Callum straddling his waist and looking down at him like he’s going to eat Hugh alive. Hugh struggles, but the fucker is _strong_, stronger than Hugh remembers. He must be working out for one of those serial killer movies. Fucking actor. Callum leans down and just _takes_ Hugh’s mouth, pushing his tongue past Hugh’s lips and licking the roof of his mouth. Callum’s lips are warm and wet and Hugh can barely remember how to undress himself, let alone flip Callum over and get back in control.

Callum moves from his lips, kissing down his jaw, to his chest, taking Hugh’s nipple between his teeth for a brief second before moving on. Hugh groans loudly, filling up the room, as Callum gets Hugh’s pants open and his cock out. He looks down, and he’s instantly thinking about a million things that _don’t_ turn him on, like playing for a shitty crowd and his grandmother in her underwear, because the sight of Callum, shirtless and on his knees at the end of the bed, tugging Hugh’s hips to the edge and working his pants down and off, is going to make him come before he can even get his cock into Callum’s mouth. Which would be a serious fucking disappointment, because Callum sucks cock like it’s going out of style, wet and sloppy and so very fucking good.

Hugh manages to get himself under control, grasping the base of his cock and squeezing hard. He feels Callum’s tongue making slow, sweet circles around the head of his cock, and he has to restrain the urge to fuck his way into Callum’s mouth. He props himself up on his forearms, enough to see Callum’s mouth, open wide and going down on Hugh’s cock. Callum’s mouth is the best fucking thing _ever_, so hot and slick, and Callum’s settling in for a nice, slow suck, which, while Hugh is all about hard and fast most of the time, even he has to admit that this is pretty fucking fantastic.

Callum bats Hugh’s hand away, and replaces it with his own on the base of Hugh’s dick. He’s sucking slowly, good suction, dragging his lips up Hugh’s cock, almost all the way off, then back down to kiss his fist. The friction feels good, and seeing it is almost as good as feeling it. Hugh just watches, and lets Callum run it. He’s a little too wiped from the tour and tonight’s show to get bossy, and besides, why the fuck would he argue with a blowjob like this?

After what seems like hours of Callum working him, getting sloppy and drooling all over Hugh’s dick, Callum gets down to business and starts working the head and the underside with his tongue. He’s working Hugh with his hand and his mouth, and Hugh reaches down with one hand, almost losing his balance. He runs his fingertips along Callum’s jaw, feeling where it’s stretched open to take Hugh in. His jaw must be sore after all this, but he’s moaning around Hugh in his mouth, sending vibrations right up Hugh’s spine.

He’s close, so fucking close now, and, god, he’s moaning and talking and breaking the silence that’s been hanging between them for the whole fucking night. “God, Callum, you look so damn good, so fucking dirty, I’m gonna come…”

At that, Callum starts to move faster, and Hugh’s collapsing onto his back and threading the fingers of his hand that was on Callum’s face into Callum’s hair, tugging lightly and coming for what feels like the first time since the last time with Callum, down Callum’s throat. Callum’s sucking him through it, and it’s dirty and hot, and somehow tender, and Hugh lays there, panting and boneless and not sure how he fucking survives without this.

Callum pulls off his cock with a pop, and crawls up Hugh’s body, kissing Hugh full on the mouth and letting Hugh taste himself in Callum’s mouth. Jesus. He can’t fucking move, he’s fucked out and just lets Callum explore his mouth, feeling Callum stroke Hugh’s tongue with his. Callum’s pulling Hugh up onto the bed and arranging him gently. He feels Callum get up and walk across the room, rummaging in a drawer, then coming, naked now, to lie next to Hugh. Hugh’s on his back, chest still heaving and trying to get some focus, figure out what the fuck just happened.

When he opens his eyes, Callum is leaning over him, looking down at him, stroking one hand down Hugh’s side. “Can I – can I fuck you?”

Hugh closes his eyes. Fuck. He’s not ready for that. He’s not a fucking prude, and it’s not like they haven’t done it before, but it’s not how he’d pictured the night going down. He’d thought about bending Callum over any number of surfaces in his apartment until he couldn’t sit down the next day, but he hadn’t imagine just _taking_ it like this.

Then again, he’s not sure why he gives a shit anyway. He trusts Callum, and it's not like he won't enjoy it. And Callum’s kind of fucking adorable, all hesitant, asking permission to take something that’s already his, for fuck’s sake.

He blinks open his eyes. “Yeah. Yeah, I want you to. Do it.” He goes to turn over, get on his hands and knees, but Callum’s stopping him with a hand pressed hard to Hugh’s hip, pinning him down on the bed.

“No, like this. I want to see you.” Hugh thinks about protesting, because he’s not sure he wants Callum to see his face when Callum fucks him. He’s not sure what he’ll see. He wants the safety, the less intimate nature of getting fucked from behind.

Callum kisses him, sweet in a way that makes him feel like he could just fucking start crying, which would be really perfect right now, considering that he already feels like a fucking _girl_ around Callum. He relaxes down into the bed, and loses all ability to argue. He hears the cap on the lube opening, and then Callum’s slipping two slick fingers against his ass.

Hugh takes a deep breath, relaxing, and reaches one of his hands, which is still kind of hard to control and shaking a little, up to cup the back of Callum’s neck. He wants Callum to know he’s good with this, more than good, and he pushes back, just a little, when he feels Callum’s fingers pushing into him, so fucking slowly he could scream.

Callum’s fucking him with his fingers now, two moving slow and so good, _god_, so fucking good that Hugh’s writhing a little and moaning every time Callum presses into that place inside him, the one that sets fireworks off behind his eyes. He pulls his knees up and sets his feet flat on the bed, opening for Callum, taking it. Callum’s taking his time, and trying to make it good, and it _is_. He feels Callum’s warm body pressed against his, Callum’s dick digging into Hugh’s hip. Callum’s whispering, “God, Dillon, you’re so tight, so fucking hot like this. You want it, come on, I can feel it. You want my cock, don’t you?” Hugh lets out a really embarrassingly loud moan, and Callum’s pulling his fingers gently out of Hugh’s ass and settling between his thighs.

Hugh hooks his heels around the back of Callum’s thighs, and sighs deeply as Callum positions his dick and pushes in, slow and steady. Hugh feels like he’s coming apart, inside and out, Callum’s dick splitting him open. It hurts and it feels like the best thing ever all at the same time. He reaches around to clutch at Callum’s back, dig his fingernails into Callum’s soft, warm skin.

“Yeah, come on, Callum, yeah,” he grunts, and Callum thrusts harder, faster. “Fuck, god, you cunt, _fuck_ me.”

Callum growls in Hugh’s ear, and Hugh can feel his dick twitch between them at the sound. He grips Callum’s back tighter, leaving marks on him, and holds on while Callum fucks him so hard that Hugh’s sure that he’s going to pass out.

“God, Hugh, god,” Callum says, his voice strangled, and he’s coming, buried deep in Hugh’s ass. Hugh eased up his grip on Callum’s back and stroked back and forth along the smooth skin there. Callum’s getting soft inside him, and Hugh relaxes his legs against the bed. Fuck.

“Christ,” Hugh whispers, and Callum laughs softly, licking at Hugh’s neck and reaching down to pull himself out of Hugh’s ass. Hugh winces, and Callum wraps a leg around Hugh’s and flips them over, onto their sides so that they’re facing each other.

Callum’s looking at him, and Hugh wants to close his eyes, look away, because it’s too fucking much, everything that’s behind that look. Callum brings his hand up to rest on Hugh’s chest. “You okay?”

No. He’s not fucking okay. He never feels okay after this, even though it’s what he’s always waiting for and wanting. “Yeah, I’m good.” Hugh rolls away from Callum and digs in the nightstand drawer for the unopened pack of cigarettes he knows he left there the last time he was in town. He grabs one for himself, and one for Callum, and the lighter. He rolls, onto his back, and hands one to Callum, holding his own in his mouth and lighting it. The smell of smoke fills the room as Callum takes the lighter and lights his own, and they’re just there, smoking, not saying a goddamn thing. Talking will fucking ruin it. It’s actually the one reason that Hugh misses the time before this started, because they used to talk, about everything and nothing, and now, it seemed dangerous to say anything at all most of the time.

Callum makes the first move. “When’s the bus leaving?”

Hugh sighs and takes another deep drag. Too fucking soon. That’s the real answer. “Eight.”

“Okay,” Callum says. “Do you want me to set the alarm?”

“Yeah, sounds good.”

He keeps his eyes closed while Callum sets the alarm, and he knows they’ve only got a few hours, which is more than they usually get anyway. Callum’s stubbing out his cigarette, Hugh's doing the same. Callum’s helping him get the blankets pulled down, and they’re getting inside the covers, and, Jesus _Christ_, the sheets smell like Callum, must have stayed here not too long ago. Callum’s burrowing into Hugh’s side, right up against him, and Hugh lets his arm come up and hold Callum close. It’s too late to pretend that Callum hasn’t gotten inside him already, inside his body and his brain and his stupid fucking heart.

*****

Hugh wakes up before the alarm, and Callum has moved away and is curled up, on his side, facing Hugh. Hugh just watches him, takes the opportunity to watch him when he doesn’t have to worry about what it means, because Callum doesn’t know. He’s got about ten minutes before the alarm goes off. He lets his hand ghost across Callum’s face, too lightly to wake him up (the fucker sleeps like the _dead_), then heaves himself out of bed to go take a piss.

He comes back to the room with his toothbrush in hand, and leans against the bedroom doorway, just taking it in. In a few hours, he’ll be in Ottawa, and Callum is probably headed back to Vancouver, or L.A. maybe, who knows. It could be months until they’re in the same city again.

“Stop staring, asshole,” Callum grumbles from the bed, and Hugh’s face breaks into a grin.

“Whatever, cunt, you love it,” Hugh replies, and Callum moans from the bed.

“God, Dillon, you’re such an asshole.” Callum’s pushing the blankets aside and sitting up, and his hair is sticking up in a million different directions and he looks like a kid. Hugh can’t help that his grin just gets wider at that.

“Come on, drive me to the bus, I’ll buy you a coffee at Timmy’s on the way.” Callum swings his legs around and puts his feet on the floor, rubbing at his eyes. Hugh turns away and goes to spit out his toothpaste in the sink.

*****

The cup of coffee is steaming in the cup holder as Callum turns the corner toward the club. Hugh sees the bus parked there, on and waiting. Callum’s smoking quietly while he drives, and Hugh has never wanted to get on that bus less than he does right now. Callum pulls into the parking lot, and cuts the gas.

“So –“ Hugh starts to say something, no idea what, but Callum’s fisting his hands in the front of Hugh’s shirt, pulling him close and kissing him hard.

_Fuck_. Anyone could see them, they’re parked about a hundred feet from the bus. Hugh knows it’s stupid, but he licks his way into Callum’s mouth anyway, tasting the smoke and the coffee and a hint of toothpaste in the back. Callum moans into his mouth.

When they finally pull away from each other, both panting and a little breathless, Callum smiles. “I’ll call you.”

Hugh nods, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand, trying to get his fucking brain to work. “Yeah, sounds good.” With that, his hand’s on the door, and he’s opening it and getting out, striding across the parking lot. When he gets to the bus, Trent’s laughing, and Hugh cuffs him on the side of the head. “Shut the fuck up,” he growls. That was fucking stupid, to make out with Callum in broad daylight in front of the band.

He gets on the bus, and, as it pulls out of the parking lot, he watches Callum watching him from the car.

*****

Hugh lights another cigarette, sitting near the back of the bus. He can still feel Callum inside him as the bus merges from the Don Valley onto the 401. Just over two hundred and fifty miles east to Ottawa.


End file.
